


Where the Lovestruck Bleeds

by Fangirltothefullest



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: -Remus at a young age-, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Attempted Coercion, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Blackmail, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Pining, Prostitution, Recreational Drug Use, Remus holds the power so the attempts are there but they mean nothing, Sexual Coercion, Slow Burn, Victorian Attitudes, and Remus agreeing because he feels like he has to, and he takes it very seriously, because it's all he's ever known, borders on non-con at times but please remember that this is remus's job, but there is a lot of coercion, creative fever, no rape happens, talk of STIs, there will be a warning before talk of nonconsensual things, to be blunt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:15:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26332510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangirltothefullest/pseuds/Fangirltothefullest
Summary: Mr. Remus Princeton, soul of a dark poet and heart shielded with years of sorrow, had lost so much in his common man's life. What little he had, he gave so that his brother could flourish. But for the first time in his life, Remus wanted something that society said he must never have: Deep dark eyes and hair as black as the depths of the sea and uncommonly long, Mr. Logan Blackthorne enthralled him with his mystery and allure the moment he laid eyes upon their host at the gathering he was not even invited to. How could a man of such standing see him in a sea of better prospects and willingly follow him?Mr. Roman Princeton on the other hand, could light up a room just by flouncing into it. He was a delight and all manner of young ladies swooned for him and pined after the artist's affections. But his world was turned asunder when the notable Monsieur Janus D'Ambroise took a shine to his talents. Surely his life and Remus' were about to change drastically and all for the better. They were moving up in the world and right into the mystery and delights of romance and decadence he had long since dreamed of! Why then, was Remus so disinclined to follow?
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders
Comments: 37
Kudos: 119





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS:  
> There will be talk of prostitution in this, and because it is set in Victorian England, it will likely be negative talk or talk of worries for one's physical safety. There will also be talk of STIs and talk of possible death from infection. No one dies in this story (there are vampires and vampires are notoriously good at not dying) but there is also talk of societal homophobia and talk of one's body being impure due to sex. There will be talk of the church as if it is some ambiguous other important thing that looms over people, but nothing very concrete. 
> 
> There will likely be mild sex in this, but this is a story about pining, not smut. If the fancy strikes me to write something in depth I will, otherwise it won't be detailed, but I have marked it explicit at my discretion. I will not be perfect writing this, I am not aiming for historical accuracy, though I have done a bit of research and hope that, if anything, it immerses you. 
> 
> Some chapters will read as if someone is telling you the tale like they are recalling it to you in front of the fire.

To say that swelling waves of emotions crested against the stuffy walls of England’s innermost minds like insidious typhoons, buried behind a facade of rhetoric and decorum, would be an _understatement._ Wealthy men stood in their new silk waistcoats and hats with sneers on their lips as the common man shuffled day to day hard at work beneath their gaze. And yet both elite and poor men alike bore the same dreadfully pompous mannerisms to hide that which they dreamed of at night: the longing of the warmth of a woman’s breast or perhaps more common than spoken aloud, the longing of a man’s embrace in the heated depths of their beds. 

Though unspoken, the cities were rife with the thoughts and acts of most wicked malice and what most considered darkest sin (though surely not a sin when love and matters of the heart were involved!), but on the opposing end, the most wonderfully sinful of sexual desires ran rampant, and it was not the common man that held the worst ways to manifest these desires. Oh no, the common man had little time to think of the more dastardly and salacious aspects of affairs, dreaming and pining in the depths of their bedrooms wishing they could love whom they wished; catching fewer moments to dwell upon their longings, while the wealthy had plentiful time to ponder and scheme for more salacious activities than a simple heated loving night of passion. Indeed, of those that walked the world, it was the men of standing, who boasted of ethical social graces and morality, which seemed to hold the more dastardly of sins readily accessible to the mind and, of course, to the purse strings. It was as such that the social expectancies, then, were what stood between a man and such desires, and forbid him of these dastardly actions.

Of course it did not help that society spoke no ill of the wealthy, only praise. Surely a man of good standing and moral character would _never_ have such appalling thoughts, and of course none would speak them aloud, except for within the private embrace of another in the bed chamber. 

Surely a man of good breeding, and meticulous manner and character, would _never_ be accused of such thoughts and actions (even if witnessed!), for there was the understanding that such men could not _possibly_ be of that nature. Good breeding meant good morals. Those sinful things were the thoughts and actions, of course, of the _lesser_ working men and those beneath them; the upper class were morally above all of that supposed wickedness. In the eyes of the populace, no gentleman would ever dream of having those kinds of thoughts and desires. And none would accuse someone of high standing in that way lest it be on their heads. Surely it was only the lower folks who could possibly sin in a manner so “ungodly and sinful”. It was, after all, their nature to be drawn to such blasphemous ideals, right? Not the wealthy and the elite who were nobility in all manner and thought. Credible deniability.

To say the men of 1850s Era England (and we will not be speaking of the women for this tale, for that is an entirely different pie to slice and would involve many more things to say on the matter of injustice and the controlling nature of patriarchal society, so I digress) were completely stifled beneath these mannerisms and decorum would not, however, be as true as one might at first think. Such as it were, all manner of treachery and debauchery would, as among all times, be hidden but in no way nonexistent behind the closed doors of the world. Social assumptions meant only that it was easier to get away with when one was wealthy, no matter what was being done. 

Money made loose tongues tie and lies spread like wildfires.

Remus Princeton knew of this fact more than any other among his circle of acquaintances. Closed doors could, and _did,_ hide many secrets and it tended to be the wealthiest men who held the most shameful minds and deeds. For while the common man was not above such thoughts, they had not the monetary means and social standing to purchase what they wanted and hide it with ease. It only made his job all the easier.

It must be understood that Remus and Roman Princeton, twins identical in all forms of visage and only sometimes manner, were not born into wealth. Though they could play the roles of the genteel and the upper class like true performers, they were not a part of it by blood. Their family was small and their father a working man, and both he and their mother were well-loved among all who met them, but still unwelcome in the higher circles of society as anything but pleasant distractions. Their father, an actor by trade, never made it to centre stage. Their mother, though kind, loving and charitable to a fault, could only be seen as a working man’s wife. They were not wealthy and never had been, nor ever would they be if society had anything to say about it. 

Their father died of fever when they were 13 and their mother tried very hard to marry so as to not leave her precious boys destitute before they could work, but not a month later she too had succumbed to the same illness and they were left miraculously unharmed and yet utterly alone. 

13, they say, is an unlucky number but unlucky for whom? Surely the boys who had not yet properly learned a trade as their father insisted on taking all he was worth and trying to school his boys were the unlucky ones to lose him just as much as their father and mother were unlucky to die. 

If only, Roman and Remus often mulled over in the quiet hours of the night when they were exhausted, they had paid much better attention in their tutelage. If only they had not the souls of poets like their father. Perhaps things would not have turned out as such. 

However bleak, that was not to say that they did not manage. One could only navigate the world as a true Englishman if sheer stubbornness were in their blood. They found a place for themselves in time, but they could not continue their education in the manner they had before. For boys of their age, they were terribly clever and found ways of fending for themselves by taking odd jobs here and there and trying to hone what little skills they did know of that suited them best. It left them exhausted but by the end of the day they weren’t hungry and had meager lodgings to dwell in. They were _surviving._

But by the time the twins turned 15, they knew they had to do more than just survive. They had the souls of Renaissance men after all, full of poetic creativity in their bones itching to be set free. Skilled with a brush, Roman had long since taken to painting when he could manage to find money for the tools and paints, and his skills would have grown quicker if only he had access to the tools more easily. He would lament to his brother in the late hours of the night when they returned from their labours that he would be a great painter one day if he only had the time to practice. Roman, as usual in these kinds of matters of passionate thinking, was right. His role as a painter would only grow as he honed his craft and his demand grew with it in time and led to his eventual fame and favourable graces of the one and only Monsieur Janus D’Ambroise.

But we are getting ahead of ourselves. 

We must describe the natures of dear Roman and Remus, for it will further explain the situations they found themselves in several years later, and how they managed to come into contact with the handsome Blackthornes and D’Ambroise business partners whose wealth and fame preceded them. 

Of the brothers, it can be said with certainty that Roman Princeton was, _by far,_ the more sociable. He was a delight to be around, lighting up whatever room he happened to flounce into, and always had been. People generally _liked_ Roman even if they did not often include him in their circles. He was still thought of as very charming and most gracious. They liked the way he spoke, they liked the way he sang, and more than anything they liked the way he painted. Young eligible women often flocked to him to flirt and plenty of men, though shyer about their advances and much more discreet, would still flaunt in front of him and vie for his attention while in the company of his smile and his tastefully bright waistcoats. They often whispered that he was a handsome peacock in a world of lower class waterfowl. What he lacked in wealth and family, he made up in charm and elegance. He was sunshine on England’s typical rainy days and could brighten any room with a soft scented fragrance, charming smile and gentleman’s manners. Unless one knew of Roman’s standing, they would always think him higher than his actual class and that kind of poise, grace, and natural allure came easily to him. 

Remus, on the other hand, was not so social. People tended to avoid his intense gaze, wicked smile and dark humoured wit. He was too sharp for them, too jagged at the edges and rumours whispered behind gloved hands often said that he had let too much of the wickedness of the world into himself. Whether it be his unintentional habit of running his mouth when his thoughts got away from him when he was drunk, or the fact that his one good waistcoat had twisting and rather ugly detailed octopi embroidered on it, they did not wish to be in his presence and tended to avoid him if necessary. He was just too _unusual_ for them and it likely sent them scurrying away in fear with bad tastes in their mouth. He had the heart of a poet, but a twisted mind full of dark musings and a soul that had long since relinquished his own endeavours for the sake of his brother. He was taught all of the proper mannerisms and things to say when they were young, of course, but it seemed not to matter. It was as though he were some sort of pariah they could not stand to be around. 

If Roman was a bright shining sun on a cloudy day, Remus was a horse splashing water onto an unsuspecting woman’s new silk dress or a frog in a gentleman’s coat. 

This was only a mild inconvenience for him, though, so long as their scorn and their whispers did not interfere with their opinions of _Roman._ If his brother sat in the limelight, he was only too happy to stand behind and keep him shielded from the dregs of society. After all, Roman was a shining beacon of hope and Remus…... well…... Remus was _not._ Remus had seen more than his fair share of dregs and if Roman never knew what he had been through then it would be too soon. 

Now, if you take one thing from this story as we move along, it must be that Remus is a _good person_ and how he earned his money, though shameful in the eyes of his society, was the only way he knew how to support his brother’s passion for painting. If not for this, Roman would likely have never met M. D’Ambroise, and subsequently Remus would not have met the man who would change his life, and death, forever……


	2. The Painter and the Poet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild drunkenness in this chapter. Mentions of prostitution.

Remus Princeton was quiet as he slowly fumbled with the key in the lock and carefully made his way into the small London flat, closing and locking it behind him in what he expected to be total darkness, fully prepared to be wishing he had a lamp still lit to illuminate his way so he didn’t fall all over himself. He knew the layout scrawled into the back of his brain, but he was more than a little tipsy and was ready to feel around blindly for the coat rack. And yet, he had no need to and could see it in the mildly dim light, placing his hat and evening coat on it with a light confusion. 

Was Mr. Hartley still awake? 

There was a meager illumination coming from the far room and he cursed under his breath. 

_Roman._

He marched, still rather quiet and a bit clumsy, but old boards creaked with insistent wooden bones beneath his steps, and Roman knew of his presence before he actually made it to the tiny room they liked to call the study. “Remus, darling, do try to keep your chatter to a minimum, dear Mr. Hartley is fast asleep and it would be a shame to wake him.” 

There he sat, hunched over a canvas full of pigments globbed onto a pallet in his right hand, the window cracked open to keep the room aired as he worked tirelessly on what was surely to be another stunning masterpiece. Remus was always happy when his ambidextrous brother favoured his left hand. The public thought right-handedness more godly and Remus thought they were quite a bit stupid. _“Dearest brother._ ” Remus started all too sweetly, words slow and a bit slurred, much to his protest. He loomed over him and cast his shadow on his progress as he stood between the lamp and Roman’s canvas. “You should have been asleep about four hours ago.” 

“And you should not?” Roman’s reply was smooth and he squinted in the lack of illumination. But it did not seem to halt his progress.

“I had _work.”_ He replied smoothly. “I can afford to become one of the owls.”

Roman inhaled and gasped, waving his hand about. “Have you been drinking?! Shame on you!” 

“Only a little.” 

_“Wretch.”_ Roman replied easily, though there was no malice in his words, and with a shove of his arm, he pushed Remus back out of the way so he could see. “Spending all of your hard earned money on booze.” 

“You know I am not stupid enough to pay for it.” 

“Ah yes.” Roman turned back to his painting and squinted again when Remus crowded the space once more, adding tiny details to a tree. “Your fellow keepers buying spirits for the spirits, hmm? And yet you’ve the nerve to point fingers at me for being irresponsible.” 

Remus shoved closer and blocked Roman’s view with his hand entirely, making his brother huff in irritation and finally look at him, tilting his pallet in annoyance. “You _are_ irresponsible. It’s in an artist’s blood.” Remus pointed out.

“You look a bit like death, which I suppose is fitting. But you know full well I cannot sleep on nights when divine creative whimsy has struck me!” Roman scoffed and stood to try and grab hold of the lamp to drag it closer. 

It was true. Try as he might to rest, Roman was quite the insomniac when he was feeling particularly creative and the dizzying bouts of frenzy were productive. They were not too common to become alarming, thankfully. But his short curls were tousled with paint and it smeared across his cheeks and arms and forehead. Thankfully he always miraculously kept his clothes clean of it, but the frilly apron was to thank.

Remus sighed and just sounded tired as he ran his hand down his face and tugged on his moustache in the process. His work had clearly spent him and the alcohol was turning his thoughts sluggish. He should not have accepted the expensive brandy. “Perhaps that is true, but it’s _late_ Roman and you have clients for commission you must attend to tomorrow and I’ve a growing headache.”

“Portraiture is so _tedious,_ Remus.” The younger brother drawled and held the back of his hand dramatically to his forehead. “Landscapes are so _freeing._ No stuffy lady wishing for me to paint her in a manner more beautiful than she is; no gentleman complaining if I do not capture his arched brow _just so.”_ He sighed, but allowed his (slightly) older brother to help him to his feet and drag the pallet and paint brush from his hands. 

“Be that as it may, your tolerance will be even less tomorrow if you do not go to _bed.”_ The apron was pulled off and set aside. “And I will drag your kicking and screaming body upstairs and sit on you until you rest so help me.”

“When did you become the responsible one, you daft oaf?” Roman chuckled quietly as he finally threw his hands up and gave up fully. They tread up the narrow stairs which protested and whined the entire time, creaking with age and wear. Thankfully, their flatmate (Roman’s assistant, Mr. Hartley, of course) was a heavy sleeper and the creaking of the old flat was background noise to him. The dim light of the lantern kept them steady and Remus set it on the bedside and pulled back the blankets. He was very tired and the brandy was too strong. It made him hyper aware of the general absence of noise in the flat.

Roman looked tired. Remus could see it in the way he yawned and stumbled into bed, his fatigue from such diligent focus finally catching up to him as he managed to change himself into his bedclothes. Remus shirked his shirt and ignored his pants. He would regret that in the morning. He did not care. He did not have time for a bath. 

For a long time the two remained in peaceful silent company.

Roman was tired. 

Remus was _exhausted_. 

“How was it?” Roman finally broke the still silence and Remus almost flinched. Almost. The twins had shared a room since they were babies and were not about to stop until they could find suitable spouses. And were it not for their predispositions they would already be suitably married (or Roman would at least), but the “fairer sex” could not draw their gazes and thus, they remained bachelors. 

“How was what?” Remus turned his head to look at Roman tiredly; the man still seemed to be buzzing with the inability to sleep. A shame really, Remus _wanted_ to be asleep.

“You know what, you daft fool.” Nudged the younger brother affectionately. Roman was always so open with his affections, whatever the intent. “How was work? You clearly drank after it.” 

Perhaps if he were a different man, a braver man unafraid of the disappointment in Roman’s eyes if he only knew the truth, Remus would not have kept up the facade. A braver man might have fallen to his knees and laid bare his sins before his brother to cast judgement and to trust he would be kind, for who else would scorn the least save for his own kin? But Remus was not a brave man. He was a strange man; a twisted man; a man who found perverse pleasure in keeping his own juicy little secrets during the hottest, passionate moments of the night. And so, instead of rambling on the wild thoughts in his skull with reckless abandon, he only smiled and kept them neatly tucked away into himself as he had long since learned. “Quiet as usual. They don’t tend to stir up trouble, Roman.” 

“You are the only man in England who enjoys the company of the dead moreso than the dead themselves.” Roman sighed. “I would think you lonely in that graveyard, and yet you always come home and say the same things. ‘It is no trouble at all Roman; the corpses were quiet tonight, Roman; I enjoy the peace, Roman; tending graves is not at all bizarre and unusual, Roman’!” 

Remus, perplexed by his brother’s unusual and sudden honesty and slight hostility on the matter towards his carefully crafted lie of a profession, rolled onto his side and perched his head on his palm to keep himself more upright and hating the head rush which followed. He stared intently at his younger brother’s face, trying to suss out the unreadable look in the dim light. Why was he pouting? What had brought on this sudden bout of curiosity and subsequent irritability? “If I did not know any better, little brother, I would think you were worrying about me.” 

Roman shoved his face away. “Get you and that ridiculous moustache gone, wretch.” He huffed out a laugh, but he was amused. “Me? _Worry?_ Heaven’s no! You would paint me in such a light? How dare you.” 

On another day Remus might have tousled with him and pinned him triumphantly and told him that he was a _flatulence._ But today he was tired. “You are the painter Roman.” Remus mused. “You can paint me in whatever light you wish and I will have no way to stop you.” 

“And yet your chosen light is _moonglow.”_ Roman turned back to look at him with a sigh. “Do you detest the living so much as to avoid them so readily?” 

Remus thought about it, stroking his moustache as he sighed. He was tired, but it brought out his melancholy and he spoke slowly and quietly as if he had had such thoughts before: 

_“Beware the hungry crocodiles who walk in tailored finery;_ _  
_ _Snapping, chasing, devouring prey while dressed in the finest of silks._ _  
_ _Cracking bones and twisting sinew gripped in teeth hidden behind a mask of ‘How do you do?’_ _  
_ _Pleasantries of terror._ _  
_ _Nay, lay me on cool earth to slumber with the dead._ __  
_They cannot gnaw and clash and bleed._  
They will not devour my head.” 

Roman tossed his pillow onto Remus’s face. “You and your damned poetry!” Remus merely cackled. “If it weren’t so bleak you could sell it, you twit! But in all seriousness Remus, promise me that the moment my commissions start to pick up, you will seek new employment? The graveyard, while noble work in the eyes of whatever deity deems watching people rot in the mud as a pastime _fun,_ is not good for you. It makes you sleep most of the day away, and avoid most people altogether. We must get you _out_ more, Remus, you must _socialize._ Promise me you will look for other work once I have become famous?”

Remus watched him. It was rare for Roman to appear so serious and he sighed. If only Roman knew the truth. It sat perched on the tip of his tongue ready and waiting to expand on the world of debauchery. But he closed his mouth and sighed. He could never tell him. Not when it would shatter his reputation and worse, his view of Remus altogether.

“But I like my job.” He reminded him gently, though it was weak, and he tried to say it a little too carefully. 

“The dead do not good companions make, Remus. Please at least consider it.” 

He finally nodded and Roman rolled over to rest at last. 

Someday Roman would be famous and wealthy and commissioned by all who could afford him. But until that day Remus would not quit his job.

For one, Roman needed the money for tools and supplies, canvases and pigments and brushes and solvent and his meticulous paint box. They needed food and lodgings and room for Roman to work at any given hour while still able to take a carriage to meet with his clients. This kind of money did not come easily and Remus lay in bed staring at the ceiling after he’d doused the lantern. 

Remus could not stop thinking about what his brother had suggested. Change professions? He gripped the sheets and fought off the very idea. He could not just _stop;_ not after so long. Roman was thankfully too naive to question how Remus was making this much money off what he truly believed to be a Gravekeeper’s pay. No Gravekeeper could make that kind of money, the kind to keep food on the table and their little flat all while paying Mr. Hartley as Roman’s assistant and for all of his higher end artist tools.

The truth was, Remus was not a Gravekeeper at all, but the ruse had been going on for so long that Roman never questioned it and he was so odd that no one else ever bothered to speculate either. Was he strange? Yes. Was he unsociable? Unintentionally so. But no one would have ever suspected that when he left for the evening, he would be traveling to places of great luxury to fall into the beds of wealthy men, only to be paid handsomely and sent on his way to the next manor.

Remus had what was likely the oldest profession in the book. And as much as Roman would never know what he did in the night, and as much as he would never approve of it, Remus would never stop. 

Because he _liked_ it, that rush of becoming the Gentleman Caller that many of the wealthiest men of London would slate their urges upon. His mind lingered on the man he’d slept with that night. Good brandy, heated desperate touches, but all professional. Remus was for hire and it was one of the few times his body was seen as something wanted. He sighed, head pounding. Indeed, even if Roman became famous, there was every chance Remus would not stop. Sex was delightfully fun and his clients almost always had _interesting_ taste. Men with too much time on their hands tended to have the most sinful and salacious of minds. Plus there was a sense of thrill that came with it. Would they be caught? Would he be murdered in the bed of a strange wealthy man, his name never known? It had a certain appeal.

But for tonight, Remus was done. His head and his back ached, and he hoped quietly that Roman’s dreams could come true. That’s why he did it after all. At the end of the day, fun or not, this was for Roman. It was so Roman could live a happy life.


	3. Monsieur D'Ambroise

It has been implied before that the focus of this story is on the Princeton brothers; how they ended up where they did, and of the struggles they faced along the way. However it would be irresponsible narration to not set aside some time to describe the notorious and smooth Monsieur Janus D’Ambroise and the first moment he became so enthralled with the absolutely sanguine nature of Roman Princeton. 

Janus D’Ambroise was one of the wealthiest men in London, though it would be remiss to withhold the fact that the Blackthorne-D’Ambroise Estate sat outside of London somewhere in the countryside (the exact location is, of course, up for debate among most historians as it was said to have burned down at some much later date) and it was there that the man spent most of his time. When not tucked away in the old and luxurious Manor, he spent his time in varying locations throughout London, in this building or that, making deals and drinking fine wines.

The rumours of his character were varying, though it was agreed upon among most who gossiped about the man, only that he was relatively tall, had a striking birthmark upon the side of his face, and that he wore gloves everywhere, even inside. He was an elegant man dripping in impeccable manners; smooth as butter with a soothingly alluring voice that could charm any young woman (and most young men). The only remaining portrait of Monsieur D’Ambroise that survived the estate’s fire was painted, in fact, by Roman Princeton himself with meticulous care for detail, and the gossiped rumours of the elite of the time did in fact to the wealthy man justice.

If Roman charmed the room in his radiance and beauty, Janus charmed them with his words and his gentle grace.

The rumours of how M. D’Ambroise obtained his great wealth, however, were just as wild and disconnected as the rumours of his personage, each speculation as preposterous as the last. Some whispered that his family made their fortunes with a secret underhanded gambling den, and others speculated that he’d married into royalty and was banished to England when they found him sinfully cheating on his beloved bride. Some spoke of dark magics whispered on a forked tongue and sinister deals with the devil. But Janus was not a gambling man unless it could be afforded to lose on purpose for the sheer delight of it all. He was calculated, calm, and more often than not he would watch and listen. It was this listening which earned him his fortunes and a smooth tongue working deals into existence; he knew how to work people and greased the carriage wheels of society easily by simply knowing how men thought and exploiting it. 

The unspoken reason M. D’Ambroise was mistrusted left and right, was that he was completely _ French _ by blood and no matter how long he had lived on England’s rain-soaked soil, he refused to lose his accent. This made him the  _ unfortunate _ target of mistrust, for it is believed to all of English society that the English and the French do not a happy couple make. 

And Janus was not about to lose his accent any time soon, for you see it was not his great grandfather that had come to England all those years ago with his fortune to purchase the land and create the D’Ambroise estate as Janus insisted time and time again. That was the one lie he enjoyed telling most of all.

It must be understood that this next piece of information ought never leave the confines of the mind, lest the good folks of London become overwhelmed in terror and spread rumours which would cause more chaos upon them than they deserve. No matter how much he claimed it was his great grandfather, the truth of the matter was that Janus was the same man those many decades ago as he was now. He was, in fact,  _ immortal _ . 

Vampiric in nature, Janus was the fourth name he had chosen since coming to England so long ago. He had arrived on the ship under the name of Damien D’Ambroise and then after many years as a shut in, he appeared as his own grandfather Dorian, and then finally as his father Ethan. But it did not matter which name he went by, for Janus was and would continue to be, the same person. False marriages and secret hidden lovers through the years were fleeting and he fought hard to make sure the gossips focused on his dastardly methods of gaining his wealth, rather than the truth, which was that he just had a very very long time to accrue it over the centuries he had been alive. 

London’s good people were superstitious folk and the city was fraught with fears of heavenly judgement. It was all too easy for Janus to focus their gazes upon the possibilities of frivolous gossip. A party here, a whispered “confession” there and the city was ripe with it. It made it all the easier to hide himself and keep himself and his business partners free of ethereal and otherworldly suspicion. 

Vampires were an old species in the scheme of things, and it might come to mind that a certain famous writer published a very intriguing story about one particular of these devils. However the date at which the cunning Mr. Stoker wrote his piece must be taken into account. _ His  _ research (for anyone with keen intellect will indeed agree that it was _research_ ) had not yet been published in the 1850s, and some of Mr. Polidori’s  [ descriptions ](http://www.dagonbytes.com/thelibrary/vampire/vampyre/index.html) of the species left rather a bit to be desired. For Janus did not possess pallor of the skin so as to seem corpse-like, and neither did his alluring stare seem so unusual as to be deemed anything but elegantly beautiful. His way with words was quite the same, granted, but Vampires were not of the devil, and neither were they desperate for murder and bloodshed. 

Regardless, it was on the day after the night at which this story began that Monsieur Janus D'Ambroise first laid his cunning eyes upon the beautiful and charming Roman Princeton. The world was grey as it usually was in London's fine streets, threatening dismal rain and dreary humidity that would see the death of a fine mood, and he walked with a smooth clipped step, keen on ignoring the populace to make it to his office for a meeting.

What he hadn't been anticipating was seeing the _ sun _ on a day so dreadfully clouded. Or at least, the man was very much like the sun, charmingly chatting with extravagant gestures, as he spoke with people in the park. He held a piece of charcoal in his hand as he stood in front of a canvas and spoke eagerly, gesturing with wild abandon as he clearly enraptured the various onlookers. 

Admittedly Janus was taken aback by the sheer presence of the man, his green eyes sparkling and his beautiful hair and light freckles striking on his face. His voice was boisterous, his movements far too grand and though his clothes were not the highest end material, they suited him well. What kind of individual had the right to be so chipper on such a miserable and melancholic looking day?  Janus had never been one to hesitate though, and intrigue captured his fancy. So with swift grace he sauntered closer to investigate the bright beacon. 

What the young man was doing was  _ advertising, _ he realized as he drew nearer and saw his various portraits sitting nicely near the easel where he roughly sketched in charcoal. One might consider his actions unkempt but he looked so well put together and his smile could have charmed an angry viper. 

"-and indeed, for that sum I would paint the fair lady's beauty to the best of my humble ability.Though it would be a lovely painting you must not hold it against me when I am unable to truly capture your sheer beauty and grace in its most natural state.” He winked at her and she blushed and fanned herself. 

“Gracious what a charmer!” 

“No charms, my lady, merely fact! It would be inconceivable for these mortal hands of mine to capture such fair beauty completely!" 

Janus smirked as he stood back and watched. And they said  _ he _ was the one with a silver tongue. 

"But for your sake, fair miss, I would make  _ great _ effort." He kissed the hand of the young woman and she smiled bashfully. 

"Your flattery is noble." The gentleman with her said. "And were we not pressed for time, we would consider spending the amount you have negotiated, but at this time she has so many portraits, she needn't another. Good day to you sir. Should we have need of your talents we will call upon you." The young woman looked heartbroken but to Janus' astonishment, the gentleman painter merely nodded and graciously shook his hand. 

"Of course my good sir, one mustn't spend on frivolities unless it is what the heart behest of it! Do take care, lovely lady, and if your purse weighs heavy at a later date, I will of course be happy to oblige you." 

Perhaps it was the charming manner in which the artist said it, but the would-be patron tipped his hat with an amiable sort of smile. With the way he declined the artist, Janus would have assumed an irritation would follow but there was a kind of masterful know-how that the artist seemed to have in knowing the right thing to say. 

Janus greatly appreciated that, especially as he drew closer still and could see the young man sigh and look back at his work. Clearly he was disappointed at the loss of a potential client, but it did not seem to drop his spirits completely and he continued to sketch whatever face it was that he had been working on his chosen canvas. 

Quietly Janus began to look upon the portraits. They were exceptionally good. Whoever this young man was, he sure understood the nature of the human form, which was entirely fascinating to see considering the faces seemed mysterious and alluring, painted in a manner so romantic and beautiful that they seemed almost too picturesque. 

"Good afternoon sir~" Roman cooed with much charm the moment he caught sight of Janus lifting one of the paintings, and offered his right hand so as not to mark Janus’s gloves. "Any suit your fancy, my good sir? These are all for sale." 

"You are quite talented, Monsieur…?" Janus spoke, a little shocked that this handsome young man did not seem to recognize him immediately. Was he so friendly to everyone? Janus could practically smell his eager pulse. 

"Princeton," he replied and they shook hands. "Roman Princeton, Monsieur." Janus rose an eyebrow, a bit overly pleased with himself that this man copied his choice of word. 

"D'Ambroise." 

"Truly a pleasure, Monsieur, and thank you very much for the compliment. I am humbled by your opinion of my work. Have you an interest in the arts?" All of his attention was focused on Janus and for a moment he realized that he was studying his face. Sharp intelligent eyes were not making eye contact as they carefully roamed his features and settled back into his gaze. Before they had even made an arrangement, the artist was hard at work mapping out the best ways to portray him. 

That was strangely hypnotic to watch and more than flattering.

"One might say I have a vested interest in it,  _ oui." _ Janus studied the man in return. Young, energetic, eyes sparkling, and quite charming. Definitely a handsome young man and truly talented. Why had Mr. Princeton not been discovered yet by some wealthy sponsor? Why sell his artwork midday on the street? Clearly he was talented and charming. His clothes were nice but not the refinery someone of this alluring and exceptional talents ought to have at this point of his career. Why turn down such talents when he could charm an onion seller to buy stock in carrots with a face as pretty as his?

It struck him that the reason must be that Mr. Princeton was new to this! He must not have been picked up by a sponsor because he had not been advertising for long enough or spread himself far enough! It must be so that the young artist was only freshly showing his skills on the market!

Well, if no wealthy sponsor had come to his artistic aid by now, then by grace and will of it, Janus decided that he would be the sponsor which backed the upcoming talent. After all, Roman was handsome and clever, and clearly good at his craft. Better to snatch up that raw talent before the wretched and wealthy  _ Englishmen _ ruined the romantic nature of his work.

"Have any pieces caught your gaze M. D'Ambroise?" Roman asked. Janus looked back down at them and studied them. Indeed all of them were very beautiful but he set the painting back down and noticed the slight look of disappointment on Roman's face before he masked it well.

"Actually Monsieur Princeton, I do not currently see any here which I would wish to purchase."

"I do not just sell these, my good sir, I also take commission if you would so wish to have a lovely wife, perhaps, painted?" He made a grand gesture with his hand. "Seated above the mantle or perhaps in a study, framed beautifully for generations to see." He looked back at him with a twinkle in his eye and Janus felt his heart palpitate. 

"Your way of words and flattery is quite charming Monsieur Princeton. But I do not, as of yet, have a wife to paint, nor do I intend to have one any time soon." 

"A bachelor!" Roman's smile turned strange, softer, more dreamy, as if the very idea was in itself somehow romantic. As if the very term drew with it a sense of pining and longing in its isolation. "Then what about _ you?" _

_ "Moi?" _ Janus held a hand to his chest, amused. 

"You are a  _ handsome _ man, M. D'Ambroise." Roman replied and Janus had the decency to blush. "It would be a true shame not to have your portrait painted for a future wife or perhaps to have one hanging upon the wall in austere grandeur above the top of the stair." 

"Flattery comes easy to you, Monsieur Princeton, does it not? But it takes a handsome man to know another." Janus chuckled smoothly and nodded when Roman looked bashful. "Indeed I wish for you to paint my visage and that of my business partners. I will accept any bill you are agreeable to." He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a small piece of paper and an elegant fountain pen upon which he scribbled an address. "Come to my Estate first thing tomorrow; 8 o'clock sharp Monsieur." He then capped his pen and tucked it away. "I do not like to be kept waiting."

Roman's eyes went wide with shock. "Y-yes of course!" He stammered. "But sir, I have not shown you my available canvas sizes, nor have you expressed which size you intend for me to paint- how will I know what to bring?"

Janus waved a hand and turned back once he saw no straying eyes, gently taking the others hand and kissing the back of it. It was a bold move, one used specifically by a gentleman to his lady friend; one which could not be taken to mean anything other than it was: a flirtatious gesture. It sent Roman's heart thundering and a wild blush spread across his cheeks. Usually it was  _ he _ who had caused this kind of flustered reaction to another man! 

"I will take care of the canvas dimensions, Monsieur. As the Artist, you need only bring your paints and tools and if you wish for more paints I shall have them sent for. You will have, of course, partial payment in advance and subsequent payments per completed portrait. Can you do this for me, Monsieur Princeton?" His voice was like honey and sweetly alluring. How could anyone possibly deny this request when Janus knew he looked elegantly wealthy even by appearances?

Roman felt his heart flutter, blushing deeply and in a bit of shock and he nodded, dumbfounded. "Yes of… of course M. D'Ambroise! I will be glad to!" The shock of it all was overwhelming his embarrassment though.

Janus smirked and bowed a little, ever the gentleman. "Then I shall see you tomorrow. Good afternoon M. Princeton."

"Good afternoon… Monsieur D'Ambroise……" Roman watched him go, not taking his eyes off the man until he had disappeared 'round the corner, his heart still fluttering. 


	4. The Good News

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mentions of drug use, creative fever, hallucinations

To be quite frank, Roman was having a difficult time believing that which had just occurred to be reality and not some fever-induced hallucination. He touched his forehead but felt no alarming heat and so he looked down at the paper folded neatly in his hand and read the address. It listed some estate on the outskirts; countryside if Roman was not mistaken. What need had a well-off man who dwelled in the country for that many portraits? And yet he could not keep from smiling rather foolishly as he began to run his hand through his hair. 

Rapid steps could he beard at his side and he turned to see his assistant racing towards him. "Forgive me my tardiness sir!" Patton Hartley called, breathing heavily as he waved, a bunch more paper tucked under his arm. "I would have been here sooner, Sir, but your brother was in a raving fit when I came back for more paper, and I simply could not just leave him like that." 

"Patton you wonderful man!" Roman said instead and put his hands upon the other's shoulders. "I've had the most _amazing_ lucid dream, though it would behoove me to mention that this paper says it was not, in fact, a dream!" He waved it around. "I have been hired for a rather large job in the country and this is exciting but tell me, dear Patton, what on earth has my brother done now?" 

"He was ablaze with _madness_ this morning as usual." Patton sighed. "Kept speaking in poetry, and raving about…." He shook his head. "Madness I say." 

"My brother is not mad, Mr. Hartley, he is just eccentric." Roman sighed and took the papers from his assistant. "Tell me what was he on about?" 

Patton, bless him for his kindness, lowered his voice so it were only he and Roman who could hear and save his brother the embarrassment. "He is quite drunk Mr. Princeton, or at least he sounds like it; quite drunk indeed, and he was waxing poetic about _men_ again."

Roman frowned. It was one thing to be interested in men in the confines of the home, but Remus was quite the loud drunk and it would be unsafe for him to start ranting so loudly. "And when you left him?" 

"I made him take some laudanum so he would _settle_ for goodness sake. He is likely sleeping it off." 

"Let us hope." Roman nodded and began to pack his things. "Come dear friend, we must see to him and tell him the good news!" 

"Ah yes, forgive my derailing." Patton replied with chipper manner and a sparkle in his eyes. "You said you were commissioned? By whom?" 

"A monsieur Janus D'Ambroise." Roman replied. "Polite fellow, French. Very keen for a portrait but he said he would handle the canvas dimensions can you believe it?" 

"I feel as though I have heard that name before…." Patton helped him gather the other tools and held his easel for him as the two began to walk in tandem back towards the flat. His face scrunched in that manner of which he was truly thinking hard and it was both adorable and endearing. "Oh this is quite frustrating, it is on the tip of my tongue…. Janus D'Ambroise…… hmm…" 

Mr. Patton Hartley was a _kind_ man, much taller than one might expect and quite a bit broader than the Princeton brothers, but the most gentle of giants. Truly the epitome of morals and good manner, and gracious to a fault. Regardless of his size, he was gentle-natured and would never lay a hand upon anyone, though he would in fact, get quite passionate about the people he cared for, often threatening action verbally, though anyone who knew him could vouch for his good moral character. 

Roman often wondered why the man had decided to become his assistant, much less his friend. He was good looking and as far as Roman knew, fairly well off. He was also a few years older than Roman and Remus. But Patton had grown fond of Roman in the time he had been assisting him and regardless of his high end coat and clothes, he moved into the flat and paid rent without fail. Roman was not about to complain. He was a good worker and enjoyed Roman's company and after five years they had become excellent friends. Patton refused not to be polite in public but that was just who he was as a person. 

Roman had never asked about Patton's family or past; it seemed like a topic one ought not to breach, for if his family were amiable, surely he would have spoken of them before. But Patton, for as open as he was with emotion and affection, was quite private when it came to personal matters. 

"You will be joining me tomorrow as my assistant, yes? As always I promise to pay you well, my good chap." Roman turned to him and the taller man laughed openly, fond and bright, almost as sunny as Roman, the crinkles by his eyes scrubbing at the motion. 

"Mr. Princeton I know you would pay me fair, dear friend. I would be glad to accompany you!" 

"I think I should take Remus as well." Roman tentatively spoke as he pressed his key to their door to unlock it. "He has been working so many late late shifts and it would be irresponsible of me not to see to it he gets some fresh air." 

Patton groaned. "If you insist. He seems to have closed up the windows …"

"I thought you said you had gotten him to bed?" 

"I did…. It seems he was not as out of it as I had anticipated." Patton sighed with a worried look. They both knew Remus was not in a good place of mind if he refused to sleep even through medicine that was supposed to soothe his spirits. 

They could hear him within the confines of the small apartment before they found him in the kitchen. Patton gasped and turned away, the other quite starkly naked as he frantically moved about the kitchen in a fit.

"Remus! Put some clothes on, good god!" Roman scolded, but Remus turned and glared at him. He was clearly exhausted, dark circles running under his eyes as if sleep was but a long dead friend and they were mourning it. But there was more to it than mere insomnia, Remus looked frenzied, frantic, and quite a bit feverish; a state at which he had so many times before been, and accidentally hurt himself in his haze.

 _"Desperate putrid cries on sullied silks!"_ He hissed, trying to implore them to understand as he turned to see them come in and moved back to pacing. _"Pounding winds of restless breath gasping, gasping; desperate! Lost in combat or holy grace?! Teeth tear asunder my breast! Rip me apart piece by piece by piece! Want, do not, is there really a difference?!"_ He cried. "A pen my brother, what I'd give for a _pen!"_

Patton waved a hand. "How much have you been smoking Remus?" The whole room stank heavily of something _cloying._

"Not enough, certainly, _hush!"_ He tore open a cabinet drawer and fussed about inside it, tossing things this way and that, his skin was blushed, hair a marred mess of sweat and Roman grabbed his arm as Patton moved to reopen the windows. "A pen, I _must_ write, it's struck me- oh muse, sweet muse, don't leave!" He dragged his hand into the cutlery drawer and stole out a fork as he fought off his brother. "I'll carve it in flesh if I have to, don't leave!" He stabbed the tangs into the wood of the table. 

“Good heavens not the table you daft twit! _Remus."_ Roman gripped him tightly. "You're in no state to write, you need to lie down!" 

The other swayed into his touch and leaned against him. "Roman?" He asked, a hand against his temple as if he’d only now just realized who it was he was looking at. "Oh dearest brother I hear the words as if desperate calls of the ancients…. Let me go brother, let me write…. I cannot keep the words at bay…." 

“No, you can write once you’re sat, alright?” They led him to his room and sat Remus upon the bed, Patton turning. "I will be downstairs, I'll make some tea." His words, annoyed as they might be, were still soothingly calm as he turned on his heel to descend the stairs.

"No more medicine!" Remus snarled and struggled in Roman’s grip. "No more soothing syrups and stupid smoke to cloud my head! None of it’s working, none of it calms the beast inside my skull, none of it can help- let me _write_ it; let me tear it to pieces and burn the shredded ramblings!" 

“No more medicines, brother, _lie still."_ Roman pushed him down and covered him up. There was no way he would get Remus into anything decent so he might as well use the blankets to at least soothe Patton from such lack of decorum (not that they'd not seen him do this before). 

"Roman…. Roman my head….." Remus managed at last once he was prone and dizzily looking at him.

"What happened this time, Remus?" His brother was gentle but chiding. "Did you not sleep last night?" 

"Only a little. My thoughts _race_. I cannot stop thinking of… of…" he shook his head and looked from him to the wall, haunted eyes wide. Roman touched his forehead. Remus was a little feverish but not too terribly. Good. It would be hard to send for a doctor when Remus was not even dressed.

But he caught sight of his state and realization dawned on him. "Remus what have you been smoking?" 

_"Eyes in the dark, they scream they bleed, oh heart asunder! Take me take me to that place of wicked pleasure…."_

“You brought them back didn’t you?! Those blasted mushroom- Remus I _told_ you not to pick things in the graveyard!” He scolded and Remus stuck his tongue out. 

“They help me see Roman, they help me feel!” 

“They help you hallucinate, is what they do, you _insufferable_ prick.” He ran a hand through his hair just as Patton returned with the tea. Roman fetched a bit of cool water and gently dabbed at his brother’s forehead as they helped him sit up enough to drink. “You must stop smoking, Remus, it is not good for you.” 

Remus waved a hand. “Do not tell me what to do, you are not our _mother.”_ The fact that he was talking about their parents was an indication that he was not as out of it as Roman first thought. Much of this, he was thankful to realize, must be because it was in tandem with his exhaustion.

Roman sighed. “I’ve come to give you good news and this is how you treat me?” 

Remus looked at him, eyes tired and he finally crossed his arms. “Good news?! You refuse to give me paper and pen and haul my arse up here to the bed like some fragile invalid, scold me for smoking to work my creative whimsy and all for the sake of some _good news?”_ He scowled. “Blast it all!” 

“Mind your manners, Mr. Princeton.” Patton said as he handed Roman some tea as well. Nothing cured the nerves quite like tea. “Or I’ve a mind to hogtie you to that bed until you actively sleep.” 

“Is that a promise~?” Remus smirked as Patton had the decency to blush and scowl. 

“This news is of the utmost importance, Remus, I’ve a job!” Roman’s excitement was returning now that Remus was cooperating and begrudgingly sipping his tea. 

“Indeed?” He did not at all look surprised or intrigued. To him, Roman was always coming in with this or that new commission to work on and they never truly paid him what he was worth. What made this time so special? Gods Remus’s head was pounding. Where was his pipe? He really wished they had not taken him from it.

“Yes! A Mr. D’Ambroise has commissioned me to paint portraits of himself and his associates! I am to meet him at his Estate tomorrow!” Roman was practically bouncing with excitement. 

The name, however, sobered Remus up immediately and he snapped his head around to stare at Roman, total shock on his face. “Monsieur D’Ambroise?!” He asked and Roman yelped as he gripped his lapels and pulled him closer. “He said his name was D’Ambroise?!” 

“Yes Remus, let go of me you daft fool.” 

He did and Remus looked as if he would combust spontaneously. “This… Roman do you _understand_ what this means?! What an honour this is?! Monsieur D’Ambroise is one of the wealthiest men in all of London!” 

Roman’s joy was rapidly replaced with confused shock. “What?” 

“I knew I recognized that name.” Patton sat with his legs crossed and sipped politely at his tea, setting it down and letting Remus add two more sugars to his own. “He has quite the reputation. Rumours range from his being an unscrupulous and scandalous man, to one wholly devoted to god. There is no truth or lie that has not been spoken of him, though I suspect there are more lies than truth.” 

“He is _wealthy.”_ Remus replied firmly. “That is what is important. You must have made a good impression on him to win his favour, I hear he _rarely_ has visitors.” He clasped Roman’s hands firmly in his own. “You must make him seek out your services again, Roman, if you win his favour he will spread your talents through the wealthy elite, you will become famous, Roman, you understand? Famous! Everything you have wished for!” 

Roman reeled. “I- oh goodness I do not want to disappoint him but now I am nervous!” He ran a hand through his hair. “Please you must come with me, I cannot go alone!” 

“I would never let you go alone.” Remus insisted and started to try and sit up. “You must take me with you, I simply must come as one of your assistants. Imagine how much more presentable you will look and how much more professional you will appear if you have two assistants at your beck and call!” 

“Remus, that will not work, we have the same face, it would appear odd if my own brother came…” Roman sighed. 

“Then I shall come merely as your support! I _must_ go Roman, I simply must! You need to be as presentable and wonderful as one could ever hope, we must make your appearance as good as can be and I vow to not embarrass you, oh please Roman?”

“You just want to see the inside of a wealthy man’s house.” 

“And if I do? Then what?” 

As one might have sussed out, Remus’s insistence at attending the meeting with Roman went deeper than merely wishing for Roman to be presentable and grand. Remus, as you might remember, knew the workings of the inner machinations of the elite far deeper and more in-depth than anyone. He knew what they were capable of, he knew how conniving they could be, how terribly manipulative. He knew of Janus D’Ambroise and the rumours of his manipulating tendencies leading women to his bed, but if he knew the male elite, it was that they were a lot more interested in men than they let on. Which meant that he might try and _persuade_ Roman to bed with him in exchange for fame. Remus would not let that happen. He would suss out the intentions of this strange reclusive wealthy man and then see if Roman was worth his time. 

“If you wish to come with me and see how the elite live, then fine, you may.” Roman relented. “But you will be on your best behaviour alright? No raunchy jokes or underhanded comments. And no drinking.” 

Remus held his hand up. “My dear brother you flatter me! But I vow to be on my best behaviour!” He grinned and Roman rolled his eyes, but he too beamed with a great deal of pride.


	5. Three Wealthy Gentlemen

They took a charming little carriage to the Estate, and it was a good thing too, for the journey was startlingly long. The estate was promised to sit on the outskirts of town but one had to take a long twisting road over the hills to get to it and the more they travelled the more it became clear that the isolation of Monsieur D’Ambroise was not just held up in his mansion, but also tucked away somewhere hidden on the moors. The term 'outskirts' was more than presumptuous and lent a sense of impending doom to the carriage occupants which none would speak aloud. To said passengers, however, that impending uneasiness seemed to manifest itself into kind of giddy anticipation and dread all at once as they stared excitedly past the windows. It was exceptionally mystical and ominous.

The Blackthorne-D’Ambroise Estate was a beautiful work of Gothic architectural aesthetics on the outside; a stark contrast to modern Victorian sensibilities, but it was clear that Janus D’Ambroise, when he first came to England, simply could not be rid of the style for his estate. It was beautiful with arching windows of pale stone to match the intricate eaves and friezes and crownings of the building, the glory of it to rival the Tyntesfield Estate. But none of this splendor could be seen from the winding road wherein the whole estate was hidden and closed off from prying eyes by a large vine-covered gate that, to their knowledge, encircled the entire estate and effectively creating a privacy blockade. 

As if their isolated seclusion needed anything more to hide them.

The three stepped out of the carriage and wondered how on earth they were to get back, but the splendor of it all was rather more pressing to the mind as the gates opened and allowed them to pass. The road, which had no longer been cobbled halfway to the estate as it lay too far out to bother, only went so far as the gate itself. Instead, within the boundaries of the gates, beautiful stonework made their boots click and Roman did an entire circle as he twirled himself around to drink in the stunning sights.

In the distance of their new path, the stone led to a beautiful fountain and behind it the grandeur of the estate in all it’s glory could finally be beheld by the travelers. Tended diligently, there lined this path a beautiful gardenscape with shrubbery and flowers, all much more vibrant and beautiful than that of any of England’s wild but pretty countryside. During a sunny day it would have looked stunning. In the dark overcast of the morning, however, it seemed almost melancholy and lonely; quiet in its grandeur, steadfast in its build and intimidatingly isolated in its splendor. 

To behold such a building left both twins and Patton in awe, which was startling even for Patton who had been around large manors before. The man had grown up well off but this spoke of wealth immeasurable by their standards. It was a care and precision of visual delight; a lot of money must surely have been spent upon tending the visual appeal of the estate alone. 

Clearly M. D’Ambroise was just as insistent upon the visual aesthetics of his living arrangements as he was with how he dressed and kept his person. 

There stood a man at the door awaiting their arrival and he bowed lightly, the pale and rather fragile looking footman not having come out to tend to their carriage but still offering to take their coats as they stepped inside. The foyer beyond the large double doors was just as extravagantly beautiful as the outside and the decadence at which the manor seemed decorated left Roman quite speechless. The inner workings of his creative mind wanted to burn in a panic of creative luster.

“Please wait here. One of the Masters will be with you shortly. Feel free to set your tools down, however you will likely be moving locations at the Master’s request.” The footman told them and Remus scanned the rooms as they were led to a sitting room. This one seemed less extravagant, lined with many bookshelves and comfortable couches and chairs. Patton graciously thanked the footman who smiled a little and bowed, probably pleased to have been addressed and thanked. Mr. Hartley was always polite like that as he led Roman to sit upon the couch before he fainted. Honestly Remus was not surprised at all that Roman was reacting this way. Where Remus had been in many extravagant homes at the behest of his paying clientele, Roman had never stepped foot in a place so grand by personal invitation, and to paint no less! He felt rather small and his ego seemed quite bruised with how bashful this whole thing was making him. To say he was honoured would be putting it lightly.

“I do not know what to say.” He managed quite humbly to Patton in a whisper. “I do not know if I could paint Monsieur D’Ambroise to the level at which this kind of wealth deserves…. What if I do not do his portrait justice? This is a gorgeous place….. What if I cannot live up to his expectations? I find my heart beats at an incredible rate….” 

“There is no need to fret, Roman, he obviously saw something which sparked his interest.” Patton soothed. “Just be yourself as you were before and this will play out wonderfully. You would not wish to faint in his presence." 

"Oh heaven's above please grant me this small mercy and let me stay alert for this."

Remus could practically  _ smell _ the wealth coming off the man who entered the room with a nonchalant grace, and knew him immediately to be Monsieur D’Ambroise by the birthmark over the side of his face. “Monsieur!” Roman stood and moved to shake his hand, the other’s gloves still as pristine as the day before. Roman simply bubbled with nervous energy but this seemed to aid him and did not seem to perturb the calm and wealthy man before them. 

Remus watched him with calculated interest. Who was this Frenchman? Would he lure Roman? Try and bed with him? Was Roman akin to a toy to be played with or did this man genuinely find interest in his not inconsiderable talents? Remus had seen the worst of the innermost minds of the elite and while Remus was always quite titillated hearing about their dark passions, he did not wish them upon Roman. 

Not now, not ever. 

If he tried to touch Roman or suggest he offer more than just his painting services Remus would step in and fill that role. He’d even shave if he had to if it meant Roman could live his joy of painting and not have to deal with the ramifications of a wealthy man lusting after him.

“I am delighted you could make it.” Janus spoke with a deliciously smooth tone that in any other occasion would make Remus rather excited but now left him suspicious. Men of his standing, wealth, power and allure did not speak like that if they were not in some way hiding a deviousness. He’d seen it many times before. “And I see you have brought some assistants, excellent.” He turned to nod his head to Patton and Remus, but lingered on the latter a moment, a look of surprise on his features. “If I did not know any better Monsieur Princeton, I would have thought this some form of trick of the light. You are twins, non? Surely.” He held his hand out to Remus. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Monsieur.” 

“Remus.” The other nodded and shook his hand a bit too firmly. Whether the other noticed the manner at which he squeezed, he did not make it apparent either way.

"The likeness is uncanny. Often even identical twins such as yourselves start to drift apart in looks by the age of adulthood." He waved a hand. "But those are mirrored twins, non? Something of that ilk.” He seemed to chuckle at his own private joke before he spoke again. “No matter. Monsieur Princeton…. Or at least the one whom I commissioned…. please follow me to _la serre._ I should like your eye for beauty to choose a suitable place for which myself and my business partners to sit." He gestured and smiled. "We will of course have need for your assistants to follow."

Remus and Patton nodded and they took hold of Roman’s things as Janus led them back through the doors and down a hall to the left of the grand stairs. They passed several closed doors and a few that were open, Remus glancing in to see servants here and there tending to the house. He frowned when he realized that all of them looked a little frail, but they all appeared quite content. He decided he would speak with them about the character of Monsieur D’Ambroise as soon as Roman was set up. 

Through another set of pretty decorated doors and found themselves exiting the manor and heading to what appeared to be the beginnings of an enormous garden. Janus made sure to carefully place his top hat onto his head before leaving and he took hold of his gorgeously decorated cane, tapping with it like a true gentleman as he led them forward. “This garden is tended to day and night. Only the finest and most beautiful flowers should reside here.” He stepped past the foliage delicately down the path and Remus whistled. It was certainly beautiful. and this man and his partners were more wealthy than he initially thought. The garden carried on down the slope of the hillside but he could see the moors beyond it and could tell by the wall of trees and stone that the Estate was far larger than what it seemed outside. It carried on for ages and there were little cottages down near the end of it, probably where the staff lived when not working. Truly an astonishing amount of wealth. 

If Remus were honest with himself he would have admitted he sized the other up as a potential mark when he first saw him but seeing the immaculate way the house sat, seeing the staff working so diligently and the garden tended to so pristinely it honestly unnerved him. Even as Roman frolicked through the garden and chatted to Monsieur D’Ambroise he couldn’t help but feel a sense of inferiority overcome him. 

He knew deeply within himself that he was just as valuable as this man and his so-called business partners, knew that wealthy men profited off the poor and that morally his station was not beneath this luxury. But seeing such beauty as the perfection of the garden gave him pause and he stayed his hands above the roses, dancing his fingers in the air and unwilling, or perhaps unable, to touch. 

It just felt forbidden somehow. 

“And you will look quite radiant here with these flowers under this awning!” Roman was waxing eloquent again when Remus attuned his ears back to the conversation. “It will bring out your eyes if I may be so bold Monsieur. I am sure your partners would also greatly benefit from this kind of charming backdrop” 

“I think this is a splendid idea. I feel my partners might find it more suitable to be surrounded by books or indoors, however an outside sitting does add a certain charm and appeal. Alas, I find I must sit a moment before fetching my partners.” Janus said smoothly and glanced over at Patton and Remus. “Unless you would be willing to call for them inside and have them escorted here?” He sent Remus a particularly unreadable look and Remus did not like it. He wanted to protest but Roman turned to him full of nervous excitement. 

“Oh yes dear brother please go in and fetch them? I must know my muses before I can get to painting their likeness! I will have no frame of reference if this is to be their backdrop if I know naught of their likeness.”

Patton nodded and said, “It would be our pleasure. We will go in and ask if they are about.” 

“The servants will be delighted to oblige you.” Janus responded smoothly, but his eyes were fixed pointedly on Roman who was bent trying to set the easel. Remus narrowed his eyes at the man. He could chalk it up to focus on Roman’s work and curiosity perhaps, but he knew better than that. It was a hungry man’s gaze with which he looked Roman up and down, and he knew it well. He would do this, but he certainly wasn’t going to be gone long, not with the way that man was drinking up the sight of his brother. Roman was  _ pure  _ and untouched by amorous advances; a romantic softie at heart and longing for romantic evenings but far from ready to give himself physically to anyone. Remus knew this better than anyone.

He was not going to let this wealthy leech lay so much as a hand on him. He kept an eye on him as Patton led him away and Roman stood, looking over his subject and smiling bashfully as Janus said something Remus could not hear.

Fetching the elusive partners was a much more difficult task than either Patton or Remus would have imagined. They went inside and asked after them on behalf of the Monsieur, however, none of the staff showed any signs of actually going to fetch them.

“The Young Master is reclusive and quite private. He rarely tells anyone where he is to be at any given time. You may seek him out in his usual haunts but there is no telling if he is in today. Come.” The butler took Patton by the wrist and dragged the confused assistant forward. 

Remus turned to the maid who squeaked as she looked up at him, the other towering over the tiny woman. “What are they like? The Monsieur and his partners.” 

Her eyes widened at the question and she answered in a stammer. “The- the Masters are very kind and pay handsomely! We do not ask many questions!” That did not necessarily mean they were good. Asking questions was always imperative of the staff of the elite, it was just what they did. Remus had never met any housekeeping staff that did not know all the dirt on the masters of their household. Either she was lying, or she was being paid too much to speak up. Neither of those prospects were promising, to say the least.

But his expression softened and he spoke much softer to ease her fears. “And where is the other Master, pray tell lovely miss?” He watched her relax a little, though he knew she was still wary of him.

“He is likely reading.” Her discomfort at his probing her for answers was evident but at least she did not stutter this time.

“Very well, will you lead me to him?” 

“N-no sir!” She took a step back. “He prefers solitude and we are strictly prohibited from interrupting him when he is reading! You will find him in the upstairs library if you wish but we  _ mustn’t _ disturb him. You will find it at the end of the hall on the left, sir!” 

Remus ran a hand through his hair and then settled, straightening his waistcoat. “Very well. Go about your business.” She scurried off and he sighed and looked at the staircase, smoothing his hand over the polished brass as he ascended. It was truly stunning inside and out. Several of the upstairs doors were closed and a test of the doors showed him they were locked so he did not bother to pry much farther. When he went to the end of the hall, however, he knocked. 

There was no answer and so he knocked again, this time a bit louder. Confused when no reply came, Remus wondered if the other had left already to go somewhere else, but a touch of the handle showed the door was unlocked and so he cautiously opened it and peered inside. A soft whistle sounded from his lips as he stepped into the grand library. 

[ It was more than impressive ](https://www.kloster-wiblingen.de/fileadmin/_processed_/b/b/csm_42_ulm-wiblingen_innen_lmz008316_1996_bibliothekssaal_4c_300_mod_foto-lmz-hans-steinhorst_acd9156c5a.jpg) , it was decadence the likes of which he had never seen before and knew he would not see again unless he were at some grand palace of French royalty. Probably a good century back in style, it was Rococo and impressive, towering rows and rows of bookshelves reached two stories into the air, blue marble pillars capped in gold held up the arced ceiling and every other one seemed to hold white marble statues carved in the fashion of Greek gods between them and tipped with golden accessories. Even the railing of the second story held blue marble. The ceiling and floor were white and cream marble as well, the arcs above so decadent it looked like a cake and the ceiling itself was painted heavily. It was like he had stepped into an art museum and he marveled at it, quite humbled and stunned. How could one estate have so many books?! 

In the corners and centre of the massive room, there were lavish blue velvet sofas for reading and windows seemed to poke in through each set of double bookshelves, lighting the room beautifully. His boots tapped against the floor loudly and Remus was so taken by this sight that he felt terribly terribly small. He heard a noise and looked up, expecting to see someone sliding gracefully down one of the rolling ladders, and yet no one seemed to be there. 

“Who are you, and why are you in my library?” 

Remus spun around in shock, gasping as he looked at the tall man standing silently behind him. No doubt he looked like a guilty child caught stealing from the cookie jar, but he was just so startled by the man’s sudden and silent appearance. How on earth had he walked up to him without him hearing?!

But the man who stood in front of him was, dare Remus say it, gorgeous. And he had been around many, many of London’s wealthy elite. Hardly any of them were a catch besides their wealth, and certainly not in tier visage. After all, inbreeding was something the wealthy elite tended to do well and, if Remus were to be blunt, it showed.

Not this fellow. 

This fellow stood tall with absolutely exquisite posture as his hand stayed tucked behind his back, his other hand delicately holding an open book in his hand as if it were commonplace for him to do so. Most strange to Remus was that this man had long black hair framing his face. This was quite striking for Remus and did not suit the fashion of the time at all. His hair went down his chest as it hung loosely around his face, curling lightly at the bottom and framing it as prettily as his delicate silver glasses, the rest tied behind him with a black ribbon. He stared down at Remus with exceptionally dark eyes, almost black from pupil to iris and his gaze was cool and calculated. His deep blue waistcoat was patterned, and accented his black undershirt and pants tastefully and he wore a deep blue, silk bow tied around his neck. Everything about the man seemed so terribly put together and it made Remus feel frightfully underdressed.

Remus, had he not been on a mission and trying to be respectful, might have said something  _ shameful _ had he not the forethought to bite his tongue in regards to the absolutely stunning morsel in front of him. “Ah, forgive me sir.” He said as he composed himself and put on his most charming smile, the false one he always used with his clients. (He knew he shouldn’t, but he hoped it would ease the tension that seemed palpable between them). “I am Remus Princeton, brother of Roman Princeton, the artist who has come to paint Monsieur Janus and his partners’ portraits.” 

“I see.” The other replied and Remus had no idea if his smile had done anything to the man before him. He seemed as closed off and unreadable as the book he held in his hands. “Janus did mention something about that. I had not realized he would be coming so soon. An oversight on my part. No matter.” The other snapped the book shut in his hand and moved past Remus almost silently, his boots tapping the floor in but a whisper and shadow of a sound. “Then I suppose I should be joining them presently.” He turned and stood straight again, offering a hand and Remus shook it, trying not to think about the nicely firm grip. “Logan Blackthorne.” 

“A pleasure, sir.” Remus said as he watched the other turned. 

“I take it my partner has led the artist somewhere?” 

“Roman and Monsieur D’Ambroise are in the garden, sir. Shall I lead you, Mister Blackthorne?” 

“Indeed.” He stepped to the couch where a dark black coat sat and he pulled it on and buttoned it neatly, gesturing for Remus to lead the way. 

Patton had looked everywhere for the younger of the Blackthornes. The man simply did not wish to be found. He politely spoke with almost every staff member he came across and yet none of them seemed aware of where the young master had run off to.

Just as he was about ready to give up and return, a thought struck him. If the Young Mister Blackthorne was reclusive, then perhaps he would seek comfort in the company of animals. Patton had often done that when he was not required to attend the parties. So he searched outside, clicking against cobbles as he placed his hand upon his brow to shade his eyes from the sun. A stable ought to be nearby- ah! He moved quickly towards it, jobbing lightly and as he peered inside, he called out, “Excuse me, I don’t wish to be rude, but is there a young Mister Blackthorne in here?” 

“Who calls for him?” Came the gruff reply. “He does not wish for _company.”_

“Ah yes, well…” Patton took his hat off as he entered the stable. “Pardon my intrusion sir, I am Patton Hartley, assistant to Roman Princeton, the artist Monsieur Janus D’Ambroise hired. I was sent to fetch him for the portraits that have been commissioned.” As he walked down the horse stalls, he caught sight of a pair of legs in black trousers and boots, one crossed over the other and swaying lightly. 

“That was supposed to be _Tuesday._ Tell the artist to leave at once and return Tuesday, if you _please.”_ He watched the man wave a black gloved hand around and found the person in question lying on the straw of an emptied stall, coat hung up on the wooden frame and lounging with his top hat over his face, clearly in the process of trying to nap. 

“Sir if you don’t mind me saying, it  _ is _ Tuesday. We are right where we ought to be, Mr. Blackthorne.” Patton said politely and the other lifted his hat and glared at him with striking eyes. They looked almost purple in the dark of the barn. Surely they must be a lovely shade of deep blue but from here it looked almost amethyst in nature which of course, was surely preposterous. As he sat up and scowled, Patton noticed dark circles under the pale man’s eyes. He was younger than Patton but not by much. With the way he was dressed, Patton was certain this must be the other Blackthorne brother, and yet his black hair hung in his face and the haunted look in his eyes bore deeply into Patton right down to his core. He was pretty in a slim sort of way, lean and thin with an angular face that was lovely to look at when he gazed up at Patton from his seated position. It shrouded his eyes in a sultry kind of glare that looked more annoyed than truly angry and his lips pressed into a thin and impatient line. His waistcoat was purple, a deep lovely colour and his black undershirt was rumpled, his hair full of straw as he stood and stretched, all lines and angles compared to Patton who was quite on the heavier side. 

“I suppose I’ve no excuse then. Since it is clear I cannot nap in peace, I shall let you lead me where I ought to be. Virgil Blackthorne, at your service.” He made a rather poor gestured bow, more mocking than anything, but he looked quite tired and Patton bowed lightly. 

“A pleasure sir. Patton Hartley.” 

“So you said.” 

Patton nodded but the other did not take his hand to shake, and stuffed his hands into his pockets, his coat tucked into his arm. Patton would think it improper not to wear a coat at this hour, but the other seemed not to be one for proper decorum, pushing his sleeves up his arms and leaving them as he ran a gloved hand through his hair to shake the straw out. Patton eyed him warily. Was this truly a member of one of the most famous families in London? He slouched and ignored his posture, disregarding every manner of propriety as he walked beside Patton and yawned openly, barely having the decency to cover his mouth. And yet he walked with the skilled grace of a cat, movements smooth and precise even if his posture was downright atrocious. It was fascinating and Patton could not help but stare, trying to avoid his sideways glances and smirks when he was caught doing so. He made no mention of it though and Patton was not about to speak up about the handsome young man or his peculiar ways.

“Janus why did you not tell me I had mixed the days up? I’ve half a mind to toss you into next month with my fist to your face.” He huffed as he entered the garden. Janus was seated lounging on one of the benches under the awning, a glass of wine in his gloved hand. Beside him, his brother Logan sat with his book, prim and proper, posture perfect as ever. 

“I told you this morning, Virgil.” Logan piped up, not looking up from his book as he reached for his tea. Scones had been placed on the table for everyone to enjoy. “You just chose to ignore me. What was it you said? I will be with the horses because they understand my pain better than you do?” 

“I did no such thing.” He hissed through his teeth.

“You may brood with the horses at a later time, dear Virgil. Come and sit,  _ non? _ I have assigned Monsieur Princeton the no doubt arduous task of painting all of us in a large portrait, and then one of each of us separately.” 

Virgil nodded to Roman who had taken off his own coat and rolled up his sleeves, putting his brushes out. He looked at Virgil and stood immediately as he went to sit beside Logan. “Pardon me saying so, but where on earth have you been Mr. Blackthorne?” His hands were in his hair in an instant, carefully pulling out straw and he took a moment to fix his collar and paused. “You... wish for me to paint you like this? No coat?” 

Virgil rose an eyebrow at him. _“Yes.”_

“Do not mind him.” Logan waved a hand. “He is as fussy as a newborn babe. Paint him as is. I assure you, it will not harm his character, he is always like this.” 

Virgil stuck his tongue out at Logan and scanned Roman and Remus who stood to the side, back against the awning pillar with his arms crossed. “Fascinating.” He said and looked to Logan, catching his gaze shifting up between the twins. “It’s not every day we see twins, now is it? and so handsome.” 

“Indeed.” Logan looked back down, unfazed at the other's attempt to embarrass him. “A rare treat.” 

"Rare indeed." Janus mused and Remus could see the tips of Roman's ears redden at the compliment. Janus, too, watched him flush and just continued to smile.

“I will try to be quick with the sketching so you will not have to be here for so long.” Roman promised to change the subject and he pulled out his charcoal, head turning as he drank in the sight of the three terribly wealthy and ludicrously handsome gentlemen, his hands set to work fiercely as he sketched.

_ “Non.”  _ Replied Janus firmly and smoothly. “This will be a detailed and nice painting, for I have seen your skills." He looked at the others. "And the nice Monsieur here will take as  _ much  _ time as is needed.” He turned back to look at Roman. There was no way to argue after that and Roman tried not to let the terror of failure and fear of inadequacy to the task show on his face, nor allow his beating heart to rise farther up his throat and choke him. 


	6. To Stay or Go

Remus watched them like a hawk calculating it’s prey at a distance. Janus lounged like he owned the world (a rather fair assessment given his vast wealth). Virgil slouched as if he never had to put on airs in his entire life and Logan sat rigid with his nose in his book, ignoring everyone else for his part. 

Remus should have been looking for tells, ticks, wandering gazes and signifiers that any of these men had their sinful, lustful eyes on Roman. He was, of course, just waiting to see them strike; a simple tilt of the head, a proposed alternative method of entertainment than just painting. Wealthy men were the worst. They played such games; games that Remus knew all too well and had become quite…. Addicted to. He could not help it, he had tasted the divinity of sin on his lips and he would never go back. But the idea that these heinous and dastardly wealthy men might look upon _Roman_ with such intent made him seethe and burn fire in his belly. Roman was pure, untouched, the good brother, the sacred lands only someone truly worthy could touch. 

No. Wealthy men would never lay a finger on him if Remus could help it.

And yet, for as much as Janus watched Roman, eyes fixated intensely on him with a decidedly easy smile and a gaze Remus could not for the life of him read, his gaze kept snapping back to Logan. Elegant, focused Logan. 

At times he would chance a glance up and Remus would not shy his gaze away, the intensity of his own look hopefully readable. But Remus knew he was guarded. In his line of work he had to be. If Logan understood the look, he made no subtle show of it. No raised eyebrow or slight curious head tilt, no questioning looks or casual conversation with hinted undertones and hidden meanings. 

He simply met his gaze with steel and Remus all but shivered. 

What must it be like in that man’s head, to live in such wealth and grandeur? For this kind of wealth far exceeded even the kind Remus had been accustomed to looking upon when he had his nightly visits with his clients. He could not help but wonder if the sheets were soft as the silk that wrapped the man’s gorgeous throat in a chokehold. What would it be like to be choked on sheets that soft? Held down, pinned, pressed and gasping for air in a heated madness of pleasure? To drown in the scent of finery and reach that peak of wanton madness with his all too pretty lips breathing nasty words into his ear?

Or would this man with a gaze as cold and calculating as a fox or a wolf want something else? Something different than Remus beneath him? He had never considered what it might be like…. But now that he was staring all he could do was think about it. Undressing him with his eyes would be an understatement to the look Remus was casting his way. Virgil seemingly oblivious. Perhaps the younger brother was merely too interested in chancing soft and nervous gazes towards Mr. Hartley.

Logan did not let Remus’ intensity perturb him either. Once their gazes met, he held that gaze, firm and fierce and steady. It was not the kind of predatory gaze men usually shot Remus, no this was much more calm, almost as if the man saw his gaze, accepted it and then simply and easily ignored it, shifting his eyes back to the words on the page. 

As if they meant more than Remus. 

He would not be jealous of a piece of paper. 

He would _not_.

Yet if we have learned anything this far it is that Remus was definitely, in fact, quite jealous of that piece of paper which had occupied the elder Blackthorne’s attention. And he wanted to very much burn it into nothingness, but I digress.

Janus finally moved his gaze from Roman long enough to look at Remus and the burning look was enough to tear Remus’ gaze from his visual feast. Janus eyed him smoothly and Remus felt strangely uncomfortable under that gaze, which was an entirely new experience. Perhaps it was rude of him to size Janus up when he first laid eyes on the mysterious man, but now he felt rather small under that look and Remus ardently abhorred it. To see someone with such finery making assumptions was annoying. Had he been doing it to Logan not ten seconds ago? Yes. But at least Remus was not wealthy. That alone was enough to make any man evil in Remus’ eyes. 

_‘Do you think you can intimidate me?’_ Remus thought as he narrowed his gaze. Janus’ lips curled higher into a smile. _Curse him_ . He knew what Remus was thinking, what Remus _was._ That kind of profession does not leave a person like Remus. If one knows where to look, it’s obvious. In the way he stands, in how he keeps his hands tucked into his pockets, how he licks his lips, how he refuses to sit and winces faintly at the wrong movement. Was he really such an open book? Perhaps if he was, he would cease looking to his brother and realize there was a willing target ready to give into whatever fiendishly kinky ideas his wealthy heart desired. He had done it before and he would do it again.

Would he want demure and shy? Coy and loud-mouthed?

“You have been painting for a while now, _mon_ _cher_.” Janus cood smoothly and tore his gaze away back to Roman who was so heavily focused on his work that he had not noticed any of this nonverbal communication happening. Remus, too, was ripped from his thoughts as Janus spoke. “The tea has gone cold and the hour grows late. Perhaps, in lieu of this fact, we could adjourn inside, _non?_ You will, of course, be staying the night?” 

_There_ it was. 

Remus’ eyes narrowed and he grew stiff at those words. 

Roman’s cheeks heated pink and before Remus could speak up that no, they would absolutely not be staying, because they could not afford such grandeur, Roman had already spoken. “Oh we would love to Monsieur, thank you very much, that is so very kind of you!” He put his paintbrush down and smiled like the sun and Remus’ eyes widened in abject horror as he looked between the two, Roman’s hand taking Janus’ and letting the man lead him away. 

No. _Nononono_. 

**_Absolutely not._ **

He bolted after them without thinking, leaving poor Patton to see to it the painting, easel and tools would be all cleaned away or put somewhere for safe keeping. “We cannot stay the night, brother.” Remus insisted, taking hold of Roman’s arm. “Forgive the rude display Monsieur, but we could not afford to stay here.” 

“Nonsense, I insist. You would be most comfortable here, monsieurs, and this is no inn or lodge, your stay will of course be perfectly without need of payment.” 

“It would be _inappropriate.”_ Remus hissed, though he tried to mask it as best he could with gracious declining to the best of his practiced ability. “You have already given us hospitality, Monsieur, and-” 

“Remus.” Roman looked at him and Remus’ heart sank, the look of sheer pleading hope on his face was far too much for his broken heart to bear. Roman wanted to experience luxury and for the first time in his life he was being allowed it; having it thrust upon him all at once, even. Remus wanted to give him that taste, but at what cost? If Janus took too much of a shine to him then he might want another form of payment. Remus..... Remus would just have to shave and bear it then. If he had to look like his brother then so be it. No one really cared who they put their dick in when it was dark, so long as they got a quick pleasure. 

His shoulders sagged and he nodded. “Very well.” He watched Janus and Roman’s faces light up in delighted glee and Roman chittered pleasantly to Janus; flamboyant; a little nervous; a little _flirty._ He took Janus’ arm like a bashful blushing bride. Roman was like a brightly-coloured bird and Remus wished he could give this to him naturally instead of through... less than ideal means.... If Roman took a liking to the man, Remus had to make absolutely sure of his moral character and the only way to do that would be to offer himself and see if the Monsieur would take the bait or if he would be a proper gentleman. But at the moment Janus had not touched Roman inappropriately. No wandering fingers trailing his back, no leering gazes peeling the clothes from his untouched skin, so perhaps- 

“You look distressed.” Remus almost jumped out of his skin hearing Logan’s voice blossom beside his head like that. He jolted around and looked at him, startled. How on earth he could be so quiet was beyond Remus, but his walls went up, guarded immediately once he registered what it was the other man had spoken. Logan stood there calmly, deep grey eyes watching him with mild curiosity. When had his eyes become grey? Remus distinctly remembered that his eyes were a deep dark colour..... Had it been a trick of the light? But yes, it must have been, for as he looked back his eyes were indeed that deep dark brown and not grey at all. 

Cursing his eyes, he stood straighter. "Pardon, sir?" 

"I said you look distressed Mister Princeton." Logan closed his book and tucked it under his arm, still as impeccably postured as ever. Did he have some form of rod in his back to keep it pressed so rigid? "Am I to assume it is in relation to the fact that your brother has caught the eye of my business associate?" 

Remus almost sputtered as he walked towards the grand stair and he turned to look at Logan in shock. One did not simply speak of such things aloud! Much less right in the open foyer of the manor! "I- I beg your pardon?!" 

"As you may have gleaned from the extreme measures we have taken to conceal the Manor, we do not tolerate just anyone perusing our courtyards, Mr. Princeton." He began to explain as he walked the halls of the Manor with Remus following so as not to be impolite. Remus could also not help but keep careful watch of the smooth way Logan spoke. Like warm butter over bread or fresh honey mixed into tea. "Janus has a particular eye for talent, you see. He would not have invited your brother here if he had not witnessed the talent within him nor the promise of a quality painting. He likes the finer things in life, mister Princeton, as do I." He chanced him a sideways look and Remus shifted his gaze away, caught staring again. "I recognize that you are quite hesitant, but please consider his invitation to stay these weeks it will take to finish the portraits as a sign of good fortunes to come to you and your brother."

"Beg pardon sir," Remus was almost unsure of how to respond. Weeks?! To spend such a time with them would surely cost them a great deal of payment and Remus was not so certain he would be able to afford this. If he lost his other clients, that would be a great deal of income through the drain. Would this commission be worth that or would Remus have to sneak away back to the city and hope for the best that Roman remained in chaste hands? And, gracious, that was far too long to keep up the ruse that Remus was Roman in the dead of night heated beneath sweat-soaked sheets….. and for what? He would not be paid if he were here servicing one singular man in the stead of his brother.

But ultimately his love of his dear brother won over his thoughts as he fought to keep the conversation. Roman, above all else, was his pride and joy and the one pure thing in his life. Untouched by the evils of wealthy greed. He had promised so long ago to their father that he would keep an eye on Roman and protect him to the best of his abilities. 

_‘Keep watchful eye of him, Remus, your brother is a romantic and a dreamer with the soul of an artist and people of his ilk are often met with cruelty in the form of being taken advantage of. His good nature and cravings for attention would see the end of his naive and romantic heart. Never let him fall prey to the evils of the world, dear boy, for such things mark a man’s soul irreparably with impurity one can never return from. You already know the evils of the world, I have read your little writings. But we mustn’t let Roman reach this point. If he is to be an artist, you must keep him on the right path. Keep him safe and funded and keep him motivated, Remus, and he will flourish like a field of sunflowers. Be his shadow, Remus.’_

Remus had never forgotten what their father had said. He used to think, in a time long past, when the moon was high and he felt so terribly alone with his thoughts, that their father had been _cruel._ That saying such things to him at such a young age had meant that he did not care for Remus. But as they grew older, he began to understand that their father had been right. Roman did not dream of terrible awful things as Remus did. Never did he see a knife and consider the possibility of running it through someone and painting the world in the colours that bled. Remus would never have done that of course, for thoughts and actions were not the same thing. But society was a cruel master and even speaking of such thoughts to the church had sent him to repent bent over a wooden frame begging for forgiveness and miracles that did not come. 

The thoughts simply never left him. 

Remus was cursed and he knew it. 

Roman never had such thoughts. A holy man would peer into Remus’ soul and see a tainted heart bloodied with madness and lust. 

Remus had therefore decided that their father was right. It would be best to keep Roman safe and shielded from the treachery of the world and keep the one untainted thing in his life safe from harm. With their parents gone it was up to him to see to it Roman could live his life free of as much cruelty as he could withhold from him. Remus would shoulder the burdens of the world and let his own soul be the one marked irreparably. Roman was a much better candidate for grandeur and rewarded wealth and prosperity than Remus ever could be.

Finally he tore his gaze up to the other man and spoke after a pressing silence, his mouth set in a firm line beneath his moustache. "I mean no insult when I ask of this, but may I speak candidly, sir?" 

Logan nodded, unperturbed by the prolonged silence, and standing outside the study door as he gestured for him to come inside. Remus did so, eyeing the room. They appeared to be alone, thank goodness. "If you feel it would be best."

"Forgive me if it seems I speak bluntly, but I find it hard to put trust in those of wealth. Good breeding and standing aside, we are humbled even stepping foot in this manor si. I do not wish for my brother to be disappointed if his services are not up to the Monsieur's standards." 

Remus prayed his nervousness was hidden enough but it would be fair to pause at this moment and point out that it could easily be smelled by the other regardless. As mentioned, Mr. Blackthorne was a very wealthy, very perceptive and very clever _vampire._ The scent of his rapid pulse and nervous fear were palpable to Logan. It must be pointed out that he made no show of this to the other, very skilled in his role as a host and gentleman. However, though his keen interest of Remus would later become more apparent, Remus had very much caught his eye. The way he moved, the way he spoke, there was something intriguing about the man and it was for this reason that he allowed the other to follow him to one of his Sanctuaries, a study that really only he used most often in isolation so they could talk for however long or brief the encounter would be. 

Logan was a very private man even by vampiric standards and even the housekeepers did not often enter his spaces to tidy unless they were sure he was not there (though he kept things impeccably neat). Therefore, it must be noted that Logan Blackthorne did not, in fact, see the terrible ink that stained Remus’ supposed sinful heart. He saw a very intriguing mortal man who carried himself quite differently than Roman did, hiding a great deal of mystery behind practiced words and movements. A fragile reservation and restraint barely held back a wild and rabid animal that seemed to be lurking beneath the surface of his skin, constantly on edge with tensed muscles; his eyes were as deep and mysterious and cunning as a wild boar. Whatever it was which lurked and boiled deep beneath Remus’ bones had Logan’s interest and he had not been interested in someone in a long, long time. There was a tension felt and seen in every glance Remus gave to Janus which grew whenever the man smiled at Roman, and he would tense every muscle and his heart would race and anger seemed to boil into him restrained within but an inch of his being, and it had Logan fascinated. 

Because regardless of all that practiced masking, Remus stared right at him with no hesitation or shy gaze, an easy smile on his face, a look that said he would devour Logan whole and Logan _loved_ it. He had not been this thrilled in decades. Remus was a puzzle he wished to solve. He had looked at him as if he had no fear, like he was undressing him down to his bones and liked what he saw. It was unheard of for a man to be so forward with a look and yet there he was, open and ready, lust filling his gaze like it was a challenge and Logan was prepared to meet that challenge and so, Logan had very much done the same in return. He might be a man of decorum and propriety but he was very much a man of taste and Remus, he was sure, would be a _delicacy._

Logan listened to his concerns and lifted a pipe from the desk of his study, fingering it's weight but not lighting it. The thoughts running through his head did not make themselves known out loud. "A logical trepidation but an unnecessary one, sir. As I said before, Janus would not have brought you here if he had not already made up his mind about compensating your brother. He wishes to be his muse you see. It has been….. many years since Janus has felt he's found his Orpheus."

Remus did not understand that reference, but he was quite certain he would make a fool of himself if he asked for clarity. Roman knew more of the classics, using literature to feed his creative whimsy. Remus had little time for that. “May I have your assurance then, Mr. Blackthorne, that our stay here will not be met with displeasure if my brother and I were to show improper manner, no matter how unintentional it would be?” 

Logan turned and faced him, all lines and gracious movement. A cat, Remus thought, for that was indeed the only visual that suited him. He looked quite like a sleek cat waiting to pounce or drape languidly in the sun. “Mr. Princeton, we hold quite the shut-in lifestyle. I implore you to give us a chance to show you that not all of the Wealthy Elite are as….” He eyed the other up and down and Remus wanted so badly to blush under that gaze but he kept himself composed, thankful for the practice. “...Inhospitable and scheming as those you may have encountered elsewhere. We will be but gracious hosts. Please relax and let us take care of you while you are here. We wish to make you _comfortable,_ Remus Princeton.” 

Now Remus, you must understand, had made a living of obeying orders of attractive wealthy men. He spent a great deal of his time scanning his chosen targets to see how they would react to him and see what they liked. He had done anything and everything unspeakable you might imagine and generally he found ways of enjoying all of them to the best extent he could. He had been on his knees, bruised and kissed breathless; he had been tied in heated need until his wrists wore bare and raw, and he had marks- permanent scars hidden littered across his body like badges of honour where nails scraped and dug in deep, pooling dark red at his breast and baring his blood to stain the sheets with everything else. 

But he had never once been told that _his_ comfort was important and that threw the young man for a loop, surprising him into silence. It should not have been such an impactful thing, and yet Remus could not help the reaction. It was most audible, the silence which followed, and finally he could not take the other staring at him so openly and easily as if he were some kind of specimen. The discomfort outweighed the shock and finally Remus nodded and cleared his throat, trying to process what he was hearing as he turned away. He stuffed his hands into his pockets but he realized he had not brought his own pipe and he stifled a groan before it could escape, his nervous uneasiness taking hold. It would have been easier to handle discomfort with his pipe- Roman hated the mushrooms but the opium, which he would have brought had Roman not told him to be on best behaviour, would have helped ease the anxiety bubbling in him. 

Roman’s comfort was priority, he reminded himself, that much was all valid and fair. But his own? Dash it all. _For Roman,_ he thought, trying not to be on high alert. _For Roman._

Still, it would be nice to sleep in a luxurious bed and not have to leave before dawn lest his deeds be scandalously caught. 

“Very well.” He managed, licking past the rows of his teeth which he hated that he had become acutely aware of under Logan’s gaze. Vile and wretched things sitting there to be clacked in his nervousness. “I shall heed what you say…. and return to my brother. If it pleases you, sir, we will stay for as much time as is necessary for my brother to complete his work here.” 

“Excellent.” The other practically purred and could Remus detect a faint hint of glee in his tone? “I believe it will be nice to have company for a while. We have not had anyone stay in quite some time.” 

“Indeed.” Remus said, moving towards the door and he was stalled when Logan spoke again.

“Going so soon?” He asked, and for a moment as Remus looked at him, their eyes locked in heated fire. He felt his breath catch in his throat and he could not turn from his gaze or move, rooted in the spot. How could a man with such deep eyes enrapture him so? Deep…. and lovely…. grey eyes….. Slitted at the pupil…. pale and cloudy as a stormy sea…. Falling…. falling….. _falling…._

Their gazes lingered only a moment more, Remus torn between going and staying, those words buzzing in his skull.

But Logan did not press when Remus did not (or could not) respond to him as he walked back to the door and opened it for him, finally breaking their eye contact and Remus felt a soft head rush, shaking his thoughts back into place as his hand shot out to grip the side table. It shuddered and wobbled under his shaky grip but the sturdy wood held firm. 

“Very well Mister Princeton." Logan said smoothly and Remus nodded almost numbly. “A maid will show you to your room if you call for them.” He fingered the pipe. “I look forward to seeing you for dinner.” A faint smile cracked across that porcelain face and Remus felt like he had been stabbed. 

When at last he fled from the study and pressed his back against cold walls, clutching at his breast like a war-wounded man on the battlefield, Remus groaned, alone in the hall and still in the large mansion of the estate, breathless with an unnamed feeling. 

Deep dark eyes had watched him go and Remus rushed out breathlessly the feelings in his heart.

_“Oh Death is this you whose icy claws grip me?_

_With a look he steals my words; my thoughts; my breath-_

_Insidious by nature,_

_To torture or nurture?_

_Death’s raven always watches with eyes of black and grey…”_

Remus shook his head and found he could breathe a little easier. There was something alluringly _sinister_ about that man; and Remus hated how enticing it was. He had been around enticing men but they always spelled trouble and Remus, while he so wanted to undress that man against the desk or let him shove him into the nearest wall and have his merry way with him, he could not afford to be _distracted._ Remus chided himself and tried to refocus his thoughts, ignoring the very urgent pressing of his trousers. 

Janus D’Ambroise was the man he needed to set his sights on, to size up so he could be whatever he might want and spare Roman. That was the goal and he must remember and keep focused.

Speaking of…

They were _staying_ and he groaned. They would be here f or perhaps _weeks._

“Shit…” Remus jammed his fists into his coat pockets and really truly wished he had brought his pipe.

**Author's Note:**

> Incredibly wordy beginning, but prose consumed me, and I am still happy with it regardless. Normally I would post an explicit work under my pseudonym, but that account is for smut and this is not, ultimately, a smut story.


End file.
